


The Next Logical Conclusion

by viceversa



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Diana (Mentioned) - Freeform, F/M, Fluff, Jealousy, Post-Episode: s06e21 Field Trip, Smut, UST to RST
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-05-16 20:00:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19325098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viceversa/pseuds/viceversa
Summary: After recovering from mushroom-enzyme-induced-hallucinations, Mulder and Scully face an unexpected side-effect of being trapped in fungi-juices.





	The Next Logical Conclusion

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alienqueequeg](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alienqueequeg/gifts).



_ The giant, subterranean fungal growth system manifests on the ground as small, white mushrooms that are rendered into hallucinogenic spores when disturbed. Victims are rendered unable to run away from the area, and are slowly absorbed into the ground where the main digestive enzymes of the fungi work. _

_ After inhaling the substance from the mushroom growth, we were already in the hand of the plant. We seemed to hallucinate what we wanted – or expected – to see. Every step of our narrative was self-determined, a prophecy of our own making that made our own perceptions of reality, of what we wanted to believe was true, as fact.  _

_ I saw the Schiffs as alive, as living proof of my theories concerning alien abduction were all correct. I held the proof, and I proved it to Agent Scully. This type of satisfying, goal-fulfilling narrative must be an evolutionary side effect of the fungi’s natural predatory advantage. Give the victims what they most desire, lead them through the easiest path of connections in their mind, and they won’t struggle. Boom, easy meal.  _

_ However, reality seemed on our side, for once. It was all too easy – to find the Schiffs, to find the proof of alien life, to show it to my partner – I began to doubt this ‘reality’ as real, and it all began to fall apart. We were stuck in a loop of awareness and hallucination, the potency of the yellow fungal excretion pulling us back in again and again. While I believe we each had separate hallucinations and narrative paths, our proximity in the belly of the beast – so to say – allowed a bridge or connection to form between our consciousnesses.  _

_ Agent Scully’s story seems to corroborate my own recollection. She believed me dead, which proved her initial theory concerning the remains of the Schiffs, but quickly found herself in a state of disbelief at my wake. Once this disbelief in her consciousness arose, the bridge was able to form and we were able to figure out, through our minds somehow connected in fungal digestive goo, that we were physically still in the cave being slowly digested.  _

_ It was this break from the hallucination that allowed our consciousness to return. Agent Scully and I dug ourselves out of the ground.  _

_ But once again, this proved a trick of the hallucination. The evolutionary steps this fungus has taken, to code into its viscous DNA an LSD-type of drugging effect with multiple failsafes, I can only stand in wonder of. Once again, we jumped from the collective hallucination and into reality where we now remain. I hope.  _

_ Despite being digested for several hours, both Agent Scully and I have little physical injuries. The long term effects from this substance – if any – have yet to identify themselves. Agent Scully’s report will further include the scientific findings from the samples she collected before the area was destroyed.  _

Scully’s eyes lingered on the report, even as she felt Mulder looking at her. His gaze was always expectant, always waiting for her to challenge it. The problem was, however, that this was one of the few reports he’d written that she completely agreed with. It was also one of the most neutral. Scully would use more scientific language over his speculation, but the narrative part was essentially the same from her perspective. 

Scully hadn’t included nearly as many personal details, but Mulder had long established a responsibility toward the ‘truth’ of a situation.  _ Details connect stories across decades, Scully. Think of Tooms – where would we be without those old reports?  _ Even with the clinical detachment that Mulder attempted in his report, she still wasn’t resolved in their findings.

And there was one thing he hadn’t included – something she hadn’t either. It was like they were in each other’s minds... She rolled her eyes at the thought. Either he wasn’t aware of what she’d been suspicious of in their three days post-case, or it was mutual that it wasn’t going to be talked about. She certainly wasn’t going to bring it up. 

Mulder must’ve noticed the glazed over look in her eyes. “Well? Is it Scully-approved?”

“Sure, yeah. It pretty much matches with my report.”

“I noticed.” Mulder caught his breath like he was about to say something else, but suddenly shifted tracks. “I’ll send them up.” He gathered the reports and disappeared through the door, leaving Scully behind with empty hands hovering uselessly over the desk. 

Maybe she  _ was _ just making it up in her head. 

-

Scully was stressed, overly stressed, and the lights in the basement seemed wrong, somehow. The colors darker, sharper, and she walked too long to get to their office, and where was that cabinet? It’s always been in the hall – who moved it? Why? It put her further on edge, like she was walking into a trap. 

Then, in the office, Mulder was there. Why did she do a double take? He looked right through her, like she wasn’t supposed to be there, and it sent a pang of worry through her gut. What was wrong? Did she miss a memo, a meeting? It was brighter in here than normal, but dark around the corners. She wasn’t supposed to be here at all, was she?

Diana. Diana was there, too, right behind Mulder. Why didn’t she notice her before? That bitch. Scully didn’t use that word often, but that woman deserved it. 

This is why she wasn’t supposed to be down here; she wasn’t welcome. Diana was here. Diana had come back, taken her place, kicked her to the curb so she could have Mulder again. 

“Bitch.”

Mulder. Poor Mulder. Manipulated again, playing right into the hands of that black-lunged bastard.

“Scully – what are—”

“Why is she here, Mulder? I thought she was gone. For good.”“Who? Scully—”

“Don’t play that game with me, Mulder,” she replied, feeling angry, shameful tears burning at her eyes. How had she already gotten to him? She was only gone for a minute. “She’s back. Diana. Why would you let her come back?”

Diana lurked behind Mulder, a menacing smile on her face, arms crossed, fingers like claws gripping at her own arms with what could only be described as glee.

“What are you talking about?”

“Jesus, Mulder! You let her back!”

“Let who back?” 

“Fowley! I’m not going without a fight – she’s not good for you, for the files. She’s working with that cigarette smoking bastard, don’t you see?”

“Scully, what are you talking about?”

“You can’t replace me!” Scully practically yelled at Diana, who was frustratingly silent. “Come on, fight your own battles! Mulder won’t ever go back to you. He’s got me now, he knows how real trust works!” 

“Scully! Who are you talking to? It’s just me and you in here – but it feels off.”

Now Scully was genuinely pissed off. Her and Mulder, in the basement, and it feels ‘wrong’ for him? “Mulder! She’s right—”

Scully gestured behind Mulder and her mouth dropped open in shock. Diana was nowhere to be seen. Where – wait, what? 

The walls were orange now. And the carpet turned into shag, and something from the far end of the office was giving off a greenish glow.

“Mulder?”

This was a dream. It had to be. Otherwise, Scully was genuinely losing her mind, because she swore her mother was calling her from the hallway.

“Scully? Wait – are you dreaming? This is what’s been happening the past three nights, hasn’t it? This is why you’ve been acting off.”

Scully couldn’t seem to focus, like the office itself had gone blurry. Mulder had been by the desk, but now he was in front of her, taller than usual.

“Scully?”

“Mulder? What is happening?”

The world went underwater for a second, and Scully could hardly breathe, and then she was in Mulder’s living room. But she wasn’t – not really. How could she be?

“We’re still linked. The mushrooms—” Mulder flitted to the other side of the room, back and forth like a moth out of sync with the universe. “Whatever’s left inside us, it’s keeping the bridge between us intact through our dreams, our subconscious.” 

He flicked out of existence, leaving Scully alone. Alone alone alone. Like she’d been alone because he’d died, he’d died in the field like the Schiffs. She planned his wake. 

The fish tank held her attention, electric green, but her mind swam. They were still connected? How was this possible? The blood tests – they were all clear before they left the hospital. It must’ve been something they missed, something they didn’t know to look for. How long would this last? Would she share her dreams with Mulder forever – her mind never alone?   _ God, Mulder, where are you? _

Scully woke violently, sitting straight up in her bed. The noise of a ringing phone made a delayed entrance into her conscious and she grappled with the comforter to reach it in time. “Scully,” she answered. 

“Was that my dream or yours?” She closed her eyes and felt her body come slowly awake. Mulder. God, she couldn’t deal with this right now. Her dream was so off-putting and… wait. 

“Because I think it was yours at the office at first, and I was there, but then I made us come to my apartment. Scully, do you know what this means? Because I don’t, but we need to do some testing. If we could go back to that field and see if there’s anything left—”

The realization hit her like a freight train. She had been right – their dreams had remained connected and Mulder had only just found out. She’d been right, yet she didn’t feel her usual amount of pride over that fact.

“-sure that the Gunmen would have the resources to figure it out, or at least connect us to anyone who has a similar story. But we could be the only ones who made it out of that field alive.”

She’d never sleep well again.

“We should get more blood drawn, figure out what they missed. I know the guys know some people who can analyze the samples more discreetly – and not bury any evidence.” He paused, presumably to take a breath. “Scully, you don’t think this has any negative side effects, do you?”

_ You mean other than never having a good dream again, you mean? _ She thought but didn’t say.

Not that she had the chance to, as Mulder kept talking. At least he couldn’t read her thoughts while they were awake.  _ Jesus _ , what had her life come to that  _ mind reading  _ was a genuine concern? “I think it’s brilliant – think of what we can do! If we get separated, or even if we’re trying to figure out a case. Scully, this is so incredible – we just have to fall asleep! Or maybe we can train it, like send messages or feelings to each other. The possibilities—”

Maybe she should just hang up on him. Would he even notice? Scully pressed an eye open and glanced at the clock. It was just after 3am, and she was exhausted. But what did sleep mean, now, anyway? It wasn’t a promise of rest – not if Mulder were in her dreams –  _ in  _ her dreams. Controlling them. Witnessing them. Maybe if she controlled it, made them neutral or boring. 

“Scully?”

She now realized she’d been quiet for several beats too long. “I don’t know. I don’t know what to think, what to feel, what to do next, Mulder. This is… this is beyond weird.”

Mulder waited a beat before laughing, and while Scully didn’t find their situation nearly so funny she joined in, a catharsis of absurdity. Of all the things to be stuck with now, they had a goddamn superpower. A side effect. A curse. They both calmed down after a beat, and Mulder’s mood shifted. Scully could feel it even over the phone connection, and it sent a little shiver down to her gut. 

“Scully… about Diana. You don’t need to worry about her coming back, not like that.”

Scully sighed, a little relieved that he’d brought it up instead of burying it like they do. “I know. I do. It’s just – Mulder we’re going to have to accept that this… that we don’t know what this is. We don’t know how long it will last, if we can control it – we have no clue what we’re dealing with here.”

“Oh, Scully,” Mulder chided over the line, entirely too energized for the hour. “Aren’t you used to that feeling yet?”

-

Scully felt hungover the next day, managing to get a few hours of rest after the conversation in the middle of the night. Part of her was thankful that Mulder didn’t get any more sleep, or that at least they didn’t experience simultaneous REM cycles. 

She should’ve expected what happened next. Mulder, at her door, at the ungodly hour of 9am on a Saturday. She spied him bouncing on the balls of his feet through her door like an excitable puppy. Sighing, she let him in, only after tying her robe tightly around her. She’d been in more revealing clothing around him (and in nothing at all, but she didn’t exactly have control over that), but the little extra armor felt good. 

“I have research.” Mulder barreled in, a box of files and books in his arms. “I couldn’t sleep after our talk, and I went through my library. I’ve got books, journal articles, back issues of the  _ Gunmen _ and the  _ Magic Bullet.  _ Anything in reference to mind reading, ESP attached to one person, and drug-induced telepathy. Then I swung by the office - no one saw me - and I thought we could go through it together.” 

Scully blinked, not at all awake enough to handle Mulder at full speed, and followed him to the dining table where he unloaded his box. 

 

“Coffee?” she finally asked.

A head nod was her answer – Mulder seemed to be organizing the research in some order – and she padded into the kitchen to start a full pot. Strong. 

Minutes later she emerged from her bedroom fully dressed in casual clothing and made a beeline for the fresh coffee. Mulder was right, they needed to figure this stuff out – especially if they were going to live with it for a while.  _ Forever? _ her mind supplied. She ignored the possibility. 

At the table, Mulder sat and stared at the files and books in front of him. Scully slid his mug to him as she sat opposite and finally got a good look at what he’d collected. It wasn’t much. 

“Alright. How do you want to do this?”

Mulder slid her an empty pad of paper identical to his own. “You start with the more scientific, and I’ll go testimonials. Yeah?”

Scully nodded, and they began to read. 

-

Five hours, two pots of coffee and a half-eaten frozen pizza later, they were finally through the research plus some additional things from online. Scully stopped her notes and noticed that Mulder was just staring at the stack of research in front of him as if he was interrogating it.

“The science of it is that there is no science of it.” Mulder gave her a look, and Scully sighed. Not her first sigh of the day by a long shot. 

“The twin studies could all have alternate explanations, as explored in the journals, and whether or not there is ESP involved doesn’t help us. We aren’t twins.”

“There’s an article I read,” Mulder flipped through his notes, “on this type of thing in people who are extremely close – here.” He flipped the paper to Scully and summarized. “High intensity long-distance instances of empathy in married couples and siblings. Their significant other can be three states away and they feel the second something bad happens.”

Scully skimmed through the article, a Gunmen classic, and sighed. “Coincidence, wishful thinking – this could be anything. Maybe they  _ thought _ they recalled feeling something after being told of an incident. Again, this doesn’t help us.”Mulder rubbed at his temples, running through everything he’d read on dreams. “One guy consistently dreamt the next day’s events for three years, but that’s premonition, not communication. There were a few instances of that bad feeling again, people even dreaming that their loved ones died or were injured – but no one  _ present _ in another person’s dreams.”

Scully was silent, scanning over the haphazard stacks of information on her table. They had nothing. “We were dosed with a strong hallucinogen,” she started from the beginning, “from the same plant. This drug triggered a… a logical hallucinogenic dream-world, in which we both eventually realized we were dreaming and drugged. Our hallucinations were linked, somehow, via the plant. Maybe because it is the same plant DNA – that the organic matter is somehow linked to itself in our bloodstream…”

Mulder shrugged, agreeing with Scully’s conjecture. It’s as close to a working theory as they had, and even then they weren’t going to prove it anytime soon. Not with the field gone, with the enzymes in their blood undetectable. 

“So we have no idea, realistically, how long it will last, if it is safe, or if it will even happen again?”

“Correct.” Years and years of experience had taught Scully (or maybe resigned Scully, but it was part of the job) to almost never quite knowing the answer. This wasn’t the first time she was faced with something that physically and mentally affected her, but it might be the least dangerous thus far. Well. Maybe. 

Dreams are a fickle thing.

-

“I meant what I said, about her, last night.”

They moved to the couch hours ago, taking the rest of the pizza with them and adding a six pack of beer and a sci-fi movie marathon to celebrate. Or to commiserate. Scully wasn’t sold either way just yet.

But Mulder hadn’t moved past their 3am, drug-induced psychic connection, borne of irrational jealousy and dream-logic. So what if the whole Diana ‘thing’ was still bothering her? She had a right to be upset by a woman hell-bent on manipulating her partner and ruining her career. She just resented that Mulder had to witness it.

“It’s fine, Mulder.”

“Is it? Because when we discussed her… we didn’t really talk about Diana when she was back, did we? How do you know about the...?”

“The Gunmen. They told me a little.” They told her more than a little. The word ‘chickadee’ has haunted her.

Mulder scoffed half-heartedly. “I need to remind them about the bro code.”

“Listen, it’s fine, really. I have no idea why she was there, in my head. It was just a fluke of dream logic, or whatever.”

“Subjects of dreams have purpose, whether conscious or subconscious.” 

Scully gave him a look. Mulder’s psychologist voice was a familiar presence. “Seriously. Whether or not there exists a spiritual or supernatural element to dreams, it’s undoubtedly one of the ways that the brain attempts to solve problems and remember events and people. Diana was in  _ your  _ head, for a reason. You were yelling those things at her, about her, for a reason.”

Scully remembered mainly yelling at him, not dream-Diana. She tried to deflect. “How do we know that wasn’t a part of your dream?”

“I couldn’t see her, and I didn’t know she was there. Not until you said something.” 

Scully sat up, making a frustrating noise. She didn’t want to rehash this damn dream, she was embarrassed enough. She ran her fingers into her hair. “None of this makes sense!”

“But your brain put Diana there, in that situation, for a reason. What was she doing in the dream?” Mulder sat up with her, determined to stay on this track. “It’s funny, this dream is more vivid than any I’d had. Maybe the link keeps us more conscious of our dreams, especially when we communicate…”

Scully remained silent.

“You said that she was ‘back.’ Back working for the x-files? And you were angry… about being replaced?” Mulder came to a realization. “Do you think I’d have her work for me over you? Kick you out of the basement?”

Scully remained silent, fingers buried in her hair. That’s exactly what dream-her was afraid of, enacting her insecurities on a grand stage.

“Scully…” Mulder moved closer and put his hand on her back.

Scully began to talk, to lay out her logical, rational argument for what happened in her dream. “You and Diana discovered the files together. You work well together. When she was here, I obviously wasn’t needed—”

“That’s not true—”

“Wasn’t it?” Scully looked up as she said it, shaking his warm hand off. If they were going to do this, she wasn’t going down without a fight.

A beat passed between them, charging the air.

“Mulder, you didn’t hesitate before you ran around with her. On her leads, on her word. You didn’t even listen to me – I could’ve been taking vacation days for all the difference it made! I was just another babysitter for Gibson, someone to foist tasks onto, to tell no to. It’s no wonder that in my dream, Diana replaced me. She did it without formality in the first place.”

“That’s not—”

“Maybe you were right in that report. More right that you knew writing it. That stupid mushroom made us hallucinate and live the next logical conclusion. It put everything we knew and thought together and created the least complex narrative – one that made sense.” Scully stood and gathered the dirty plates around them. “It made sense, Mulder. That’s why I dreamed it, that’s why you were there.”

He didn’t follow her into the kitchen. She didn’t want him to. 

By the time she finished over-washing the dishes he was gone. She heard him sigh and shuffle papers as he loaded them back into the box, and then he was out. Scully hated him, just for a second, for not fixing this - for not confirming or denying what she said.

She took an early shower, too on edge to enjoy a bath, and re-dressed in comfort clothing. Sweatpants would be her company this weekend, and they would reunite on Monday like this day never happened. 

Or, she realized, they would reunite that night, in their dreams. Maybe they could get some more screaming in while getting some rest. Scully flipped through channels listlessly, allowing a few lines of dialogue to slip out of each program until she hit the next button. THat’s what she would have to do, if Mulder appeared in her dreams that night. Flip the channel, send him to the moon, anything. 

Sleep sounded exhausting. 

-

It snuck up on her anyway. Scully woke much the same way she did that morning, too tired and hearing a knock at her door. She rolled off the couch, barely missing the coffee table, and stood shakily. She’d been asleep, but hadn’t gotten to the REM stage just yet. Luckily. 

Mulder impatiently kept knocking and before Scully could make it to the door he’d used his key to get in. 

A little affronted, Scully stopped and stared him down, her crossed arms the most serious part of her sleep-ruffled appearance. 

“You didn’t answer your phone,” he said, as if it were an excuse to barge in. 

“I was asleep.”

“It’s only eleven.” 

Scully rolled her eyes and gestured to nothing, turning back to the kitchen to do something - anything - besides stand and argue with Mulder over nothing. “I didn’t exactly get a good night’s sleep last night, if you’ll remember. What do you want?”

Mulder followed her, trailing raindrops and kicking off his shoes as he walked. “I shouldn’t have left earlier.”

Scully filled up the tea kettle, barely restraining herself from slamming it onto the stove top. She settled by twisting the knob harshly. “And? Now you’re back.”

“I’m back.”

Scully waited for him to apologize, explain himself, anything! But he remained silent. She gestured forcefully for him to speak, too tired and angry to have any more control. 

“I’m sorry.” A beat passed as he shuffled uncomfortably. “Diana… she isn’t the easy next conclusion. Not to me. She shouldn’t be to you either.”

Scully deflated. He was just trying to make it right. “Like I said, Mulder. It’s fine. Diana isn’t here, she’s not coming back.”

“We don’t know that.” 

Scully looked up at him sharply, and he raised his hands in innocence. 

“I don’t know that. But if she does, Scully,” he moved close to her, almost trapping her against her countertop. “If she does, you’ve got nothing to worry about. Especially when it comes to me.”

Scully hesitated, halfway to forgiveness before the logical, jealous side of her spoke up. “She’s never here just to play games, Mulder. She could really hurt you. Hurt us.”

“She won’t.”

“She’s a master manipulator.”

“I know. But not to me - not anymore.” Scully opened her mouth to argue but Mulder cut her off, leaning in close. “She hurt me in the past, when we were partners. She hurt me when we were more than that. She disappeared and reappeared, only to hurt and manipulate me again. But now it’s different. I’m different.”

Scully was trapped between the counter and his long body, a hand resting on either side of her. But she felt safe. More than safe. Warm. 

“How?” her eyes searched his, hovering almost directly above her.

“I’ve got you.”

Before she could think, act, or even breathe, Mulder was on her. He’d swept her close and up, up to his mouth, and her responses were involuntary as his mouth tipped hers open.

_ Oh, God. Mulder is kissing me. _ She thought. And then, immediately,  _ this better not be a fucking dream. _

Tongues met and slid together and Scully felt gloriously overwhelmed. Her own hands kicked into gear and slid up Mulder’s chest and onto his neck, tilting his head back and forth. It was fireworks, it was heat, it was a kiss for the ages.

What did it mean?

The kettle interrupted them, or rescued them, and Mulder broke away. Scully turned the stove off and moved the kettle, too frazzled to actually make tea. What the hell was that? Slowly, still breathing heavily, she turned back to face her partner.

He looked like he’d just survived a battle, shocked and wild-eyed.

“Mulder,” Scully exhaled. 

“Yeah?” He was looking everywhere but at her.

“What was that?” Scully saw him physically coming back to himself, to the present. 

“I finally kissed you.”

Finally? _ Finally was right _ , she thought.

“I’ve wanted to kiss you forever, and this hallucinogenic-mushroom-whatever it is that’s linked us, this Diana nonsense--” Mulder paused, coming to a realization of sorts. “I don’t want to be inside your head as someone who doesn’t trust you anymore. Who doesn’t want you by his side, who doesn’t love you.”

Scully didn’t respond. She couldn’t if she wanted to, her smile was so big and uncontrollable.

“I’ll assume that it was okay that I, uh, you know. Kissed you, then?”

She answered this time with a nod, wrapping her arms around his torso and tucking her head under his chin. “Yes, it is.” A big breath. “I love you, too. And I believe you.” Whether or not this was the ‘right time’ or ‘right circumstances,’ it was perfect and utterly in line with their lives. Leave it to an advanced evolution of a psychotropic fungus to finally bring them together. 

“Alright if I do it again?” Her mouth on his was her response. She relished in the stretch of her body, standing on her toes to reach him. His hair was soft and damp from the rain, but she ran her fingers through it anyway. She didn’t need an excuse any more. 

-

Somehow, they made it to her bedroom. Less than twenty-four hours ago, they had been linked in her bed through their dreams. Now they were in her bed for entirely different purposes.

“God, Scully.” Mulder’s vocabulary was limited but passionate. He was sitting against the headboard, naked, and Scully had just undressed.

“Better lighting than a decontamination shower, isn’t it?” They’d been in that situation more often than maybe any other partners on the planet, most recently to groggily be scrubbed after they were rescued from the mushroom pit. 

“Better than anything I’ve ever seen.” Mulder stared appreciating Scully’s soft curves and exposed skin. He wanted to touch all of it, her most sensitive self. “C’mere.”

Scully readily agreed, pushing her usual feelings of insecurity aside. This was Mulder, and he was in her bed, and she needed him. She walked her hands up his thighs, crawling on her knees to him, and finally settled on his lap with her arms around his shoulders. 

They kissed lazily, tongues sliding slow over teeth, bodies aligning. She was wet, embarrassingly so, but couldn’t help but burrow closer. Mulder moaned as her belly met his cock, his hands sliding to squeeze her breasts. 

Scully gasped at the sensation, feeling ultra-sensitive in the best way. She needed more, needed him, and picked up the pace as she lifted herself up. Mulder released one hand, the other teasing her rigid nipple, and helped guide himself into her. 

“Fuck,” she gasped. Scully sunk down onto his length and saw sunlight, warm chills radiating through her body. She bottomed out with a shudder, breathing into his mouth as he rubbed his open lips against hers.

“God, Scully, I can’t tell you - ah - how much I’ve wanted this, wanted you.  _ God, yes.” _

She began to move, tilting her hips in a rhythm that immediately drove him wild. She was strung tight already, moving faster and harder as the sensations took over. He grasped her hips, pulling her tightly in time, and then moved to her ass, squeezing as she slid up and down him.

“Ah!” Scully released uncontrolled sounds, the friction hitting her just  _ there _ , and  _ fuck _ , and oh  _ God yes please. _

She clenched around him, body going stiff but still thrusting as she came. Mulder followed with a shout, keeping Scully close and sliding down onto the bed, contented.

-

It was a gorgeous day. They were out in a park, a gentle breeze blowing, the sun warming their faces. They held hands, walking closely.

A swan ambled past, honking at them, and slid into the pond nearby. Mulder laughed. Scully smiled. It was a beautiful day.

“It’s perfect.”

“Hmm?” She was almost too content to speak. 

“Did you know, that, in Hinduism, swans actually represent the connection between the physical and spiritual world when the two worlds are in perfect harmony?”

“That’s your swan, then.” Scully steered them toward the pond and they sat on a bench. “I didn’t know that.”

“It’s because they reside in both worlds, connected to the air and the water.”

Another swan appeared and swam up to the first one. They assumed the classic swan pose, their necks curled to make a heart.

“Now that’s just a cliché,” giggled Scully. 

“Swans mate for life,” tried Mulder, a smile on his face. 

“That’s a myth.”

“A real myth is that swans only sing when they’re dying.” Mulder turned to Scully, his arm comfortably around her shoulders. “Swans are smart enough to sing and honk whenever they damn well feel like it.”

Scully met his lean in and kissed him, the gentle warmth and tingling of a dream-kiss following.

In her bed, in the physical world, she smiled in her sleep and nestled backward into Mulder’s embrace.

**Author's Note:**

> This is for Cecilia @alienqueequeg who requested 1. Post-ep for anything written by Vince Gilligan (I chose 6x21 Field Trip) (and thank you @sportsnightnut and @trainwreckweather for beta and help) and MSR, angst, fluff, UST/RST, jealousy and smut. I tried to include everything!! And a general thank you to the x-files fandom wiki pages for info.


End file.
